The Morning After
by Diddlee
Summary: Just a small idea that popped into my head. Deals with mature content, thus the rating. But nothing graphic. I'm sure most will be able to handle it well.
1. Chapter 1

****

DISCLAIMER: I was up until 9 a.m. this morning, and lack of sleep can cause me to do some crazy things. Not sure where I'm going with this, if anywhere. It'll depend on your reactions I suppose. I struggled with staying in character, though someone reminded me that we don't know what Rory will be like in a few years. Though I don't use names in this, I'm sure you're smart enough to figure it out.  


The figure stirred behind her, further awakening her out of her drowsy state. She squinted her eyes a bit, already feeling the pangs of the morning after headache set in. She was certain she should have stopped after that second drink. But like she had done several times before, she overstepped the bounds she had vowed again to uphold. It was always the case when she was nervous. And he, unlike any other person on the planet, could make her nervous. 

She felt him turn on his side, and in seconds, her waist was draped with a bare, muscled arm. She closed her eyes tight, hoping on some level that this was all a dream. Wishing as she counted to ten that the previous night would disappear from her memory. She allowed her mind to float back to the past, certain that she could change the outcome if she concentrated hard enough. She was standing in her apt, getting ready to go out with her roommate. Kelly had asked her to do her this one favor and accompany her to this party. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a basic Harvard student's party. She had done so several times before. Kelly, like she, was never the aggressive coed. They relied on each other for support and were never quite as open as they were when they were out together. And last night should have been routine. She slowly opened her eyes looking down to her waist. The arm was still there. She sighed heavily, the arm tightening slightly at her actions. 

Delicately lifting the arm from her waist, she managed to bring herself to a seated position. She placed a hand gingerly on her forehead as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. This was going to be one hell of a hangover. Shoving the sheets back from her bare legs, she mentally processed their dark navy color. Definitely a male's bed. Taking a quick glance around the room, she realized that she had never been there before, yet oddly, something about the room seemed familiar. Something about _him_ was familiar. The queen sized bed was covered in navy sheets and a matching comforter, lacking the dozens of pillows that would generally adorn a woman's bed. She reached for her shirt on the floor, quickly throwing it over her head and pulling her loose brown hair through the collar. 

She stood slowly and looked around the room. The temperature in the room was chilly and she shivered slightly at the cold air hitting her bare legs. In the corner of the room along the far wall, she noticed a door cracked to what she assumed was a small bathroom. Taking the few steps across the carpet, she stepped into the small room, the cold tile on her bare feet intensifying the goose bumps standing on her arms and legs. Turning around she could see his outline on the bed and the indentation of her form on the mattress right beside him. He once again stirred and she paused to take in his form before silently closing the door and shutting herself into the solitude of those four walls.

She flipped the switch on the wall, casting shards of light that pierced the fogginess of her mind. She cringed at it's brightness, willing herself to withstand the onslaught of pain through her temples. Glancing around the room, she noticed a startling fact. It was neat to the point of perfection. The organization startled her a bit. It was unlike any college student to keep a bathroom this neat, let alone a student of the male gender. She expected to see towels crumpled on the floor and discarded clothing in the corner. Instead she was greeted with short, navy hand towels that matched the shower curtain exactly. He had lined them up so that the edges hung at the exact same length. The cleanliness made her a bit uneasy. She reached up pushing one of the towels so that it's back half hung two inches lower than the front. The move gave her little satisfaction, but in her state, a little was all she needed.

She glanced at the counter again recognizing again the small touches of a guy's bathroom. An electric razor sat in it's cradle along the back edge of the sink, the straight edge of the charger perpendicular to the line of the counter. The soap dispenser and toothbrush holder stood at attention next to it. The thought occurred to her that either this guy was obsessively neat, or he kept it this immaculate because he was always having women over. That visual caused her stomach to turn. Pushing the thought from her mind, she turned on the faucet and ran her fingers underneath the water waiting for it to get warm.

She twisted her hair into a knot, tying it over itself in a trick she picked up from her mother. As her fingers brushed against her scalp, flashes of the night before entered her mind. He was brushing the hair behind her ear saying something that invariably made her smile. And later, running his fingertips through the length, grasping at the back of her neck as he pulled her closer and molded her to his body.

She ran her hands under the water, cupping them to retain it in her hands. Lowering her head, she proceeded to splash her face with the cleansing liquid. Cleansing away the hundreds of kisses he had placed on her lips, still slightly swollen from his intense kisses. Grabbing for the nearest towel, she patted her face dry, and hung the towel back in it's place. 

Out of curiosity, she opened the medicine cabinet. Her mother had taught her many things throughout her short life. And regrettably, her nosiness was one of the most prominent of her inherited traits. She rummaged through the cabinet finding nothing out of the ordinary to spark her interest. There was a bottle of aspirin, a tube of toothpaste, some hair gel and the like. And then it occurred to her that something was missing.

Her stomach turned over on itself again as she half sat, half collapsed onto the closed toilet. For the life of her she couldn't remember if they had used anything last night. She lowered her head, bracing her elbows on her knees as she held her hanging head. When had she become so stupid? There were many things she had hoped to accomplish at Harvard. Having a one night stand was not one of them. She was inexperienced when it came to sex. She had dated Dean for a year and a half before they even considered moving that far. Her other boyfriends had also respected the fact that it took her a bit longer to reach that point. 

He, on the other hand, was not as naive. If she hadn't remembered the legendary stories from high school, she definitely would have known after last night. He definitely had had some practice in this department. 

She tried to decipher the emotions running through her mind and those tugging at her heart. She tried to make herself believe that one of those was regret, but as the effects of the alcohol faded, so did her ability to convince her self of a lie.

He had caught her off guard. Walked through the door at the party with that familiar swagger, and hit her upside the head like a two by four. He had taken a few steps backward when he first saw her and she registered the surprise on his face before he quickly masked it with that infuriating smirk. She wasn't sure why she was so shocked to see him there. She new that he had too chosen to go to Harvard, but she had yet to encounter him anywhere within the last few years. She had heard rumblings from Paris that he was studying pre-med. A family tradition. And her literary heavy schedule did not take her into the realms of science at the institution. She had read his name a few times in the school paper, raving about his conquests on the soccer field. She swore to herself that she would make it to a game, but the ever-increasing load of a college schedule had done nothing but make her more reclusive with studying. They had yet to cross paths and seeing him again blindsided her.

They had always had an unusual relationship. And their actions last night only served to complicate things. Six years ago he walked into her life and turned it upside down. He was the rumble that disturbed her daily routine. Over the years he had filled many positions in her life. Enemy. Acquaintance. Friend. _Lover_. 

She fought back the tingling sensation that thought created. Ignoring the way that word simultaneously made her heart skip a beat and her stomach want to vomit. 

The years had been good to him. She could admit that. She had last seen him the night of graduation. His father had relented on military school after a year, and he was allowed to return to Chilton for his final year. Allowed. As if he needed permission to waltz back into his domain as if he had never left. 

Or a reason to saunter back into her life.

They'd spent many hours together senior year, though she would be the first to point out that it was not by choice. By fate they had been assigned similar schedules, and surviving the accelerated classes required reliance on other classmates. She remembered that she was shocked to find out Chilton even had advanced classes beyond its normal demanding curriculum. She had never thought of him as a brain, but over the next few months he had proven to her that daddy had not just purchased his way into Harvard. Several study sessions and conversations later, she was amazed that she would even call him a friend. They had visited each other's houses for various study sessions, and she prided herself that she was able to chip away at some of his cold exterior. 

And last night was as if that exterior never existed. He had kept his distance for a while, she assumed to grasp the reality of her presence. And when he finally approached from behind, his breath ticked her neck as he called her the name she hadn't heard in years. And as it had that last time, when she donned the outfit of Juliet, it brought a smile to her face. She said something witty back, and they fell into the rhythm that was so familiar.

He was different somehow. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something had changed. He had lost most of the cockiness from his teenage years and separation from his overbearing parents had allowed him to grow into himself. He asked about her family and laughed appropriately as she relayed the latest antics of her mother. She would never admit it to him, but her mother had taken a liking to him. For months into her senior year the elder woman had pried and prodded trying to get her to admit that there was something between the two. A gimmick that had failed. Though refraining from saying the words out loud did not quell her mother's insistence that she herself was aware the sexual tension could be cut with a knife. She nervously laughed as she realized there was no tension left to cut. They had obliterated any semblance of tension with their actions last night and skyrocketed to an entirely different level of awkwardness.

She stood slowly, her head again beginning to pound. She made a mental note to remember this exact moment any time she thought of taking another drink. She quietly opened the door back to the bedroom and flipped the light back off. She was glad to see he was still sleeping, his blonde tresses contrasting sharply with the dark pillow. She eased her way over to the bed, grabbing articles of clothing on her way. She gently sat on the edge of the bed and finished dressing so she could slip away.

Busying herself pulling on her shoes, she didn't feel the bed move as he stirred awake. As she leaned back up, she stiffened when she felt his lips on her neck, his warm breath tickling her skin

"Good morning, beautiful." His scratchy voice cutting through the silence of the room.

She closed her eyes tightly fighting back the sensations as he continued his assault on her neck. She knew she needed to leave, but her heart was telling her to stay. Had they been at her place she would have expected him to disappear into the night. But since they had retreated to his place, she was hoping she would be the one to leave unnoticed.

She wasn't certain what his early morning affections meant, and she definitely wasn't prepared to interpret what she hoped they meant. She was going to need time to process it all. And clear thinking was not going to emerge from this headache. Nor could she make a proper judgment while enduring the intimate contact he continued to administer.

Without warning she stood from the bed, grabbing her handbag from the floor. She mumbled something about needing to leave, not able to bring herself to face him knowing the shock her actions would bring. She expected him to protest and when he did not, she proceeded to the doorway. She was never a fan of awkward silence, and her instinct to ramble was pushing to the front. She felt like she should say 'thank you', realizing that such a remark would sound childish and was entirely inappropriate. So without a word she opened the door and slipped out.

She half ran down the hallway, frantically searching for the exit from his apartment, lest he follow her down the hall. She feared that he would change his mind and ask her to stay. And she further feared that she would agree to his request. She stumbled into the living room and was greeted by his roommate sitting on the couch with a book on his lap. Something she would have been doing if last night had never happened. 

She felt him give her the once over but didn't stop to notice his inquisitive look. She was ashamed that he encountered her like this, realizing she was probably not the first girl to emerge disheveled from his room in the early morning. She was most likely another notch in the proverbial belt, and being tagged as such by a complete stranger was unnerving. At that sickening feeling, she quickened her pace, throwing open the door and finding release from the suffocating, caged atmosphere as she passed into the brisk air. 


	2. Chapter 2

****

Author's note: I wrote most of this a long time ago. I'm so sick of looking at it, and I'm not sure it even fits the story anymore. Such is life. I wrote the second half over the past few days when I'm heavily medicated with prescription narcotics. Which hopefully explains a lot. I apologize for this part, but like I said, I'm sick of it. And I'm sick of writing. So read it and think what you will. You've been warned.

**__**

Part 2

The clicking of metal on metal echoed through the dimly lit room as the latch caught in its proper place on the doorframe. Her footsteps on the hall carpet created indentations of darkness to the light passing under his door. Muffled footsteps faded as the disturbances in the light pattern lessened, and finally disappeared. In seconds all was quiet and the light shown under the door as clearly as it had before she ever disrupted its path. Silence encompassed the room, broken up only by the erratic, shallow breathing of the man sitting amidst the quiet.

And just like that, she was gone. 

Staring at the wooden barrier less than ten feet across the room, his eyes glazed over as the reality of her leaving struck him in a direct blow. His mind reeled with thoughts of the distance she was creating between them. Running away from the progress they had made to overcome the separation. A gap created during the first meeting, crossed by their fragile friendship, and finally closed by some sheer will of fate hours before. And now she was widening that expanse, instilling fear that the damage done this time would be irreparable. 

He collapsed backward onto the disheveled sheets staring blindly at the ceiling overhead. Images floated in front of his eyes jumbling together on the jaded plaster background. He laid motionless, viewing the twisted slide show his consciousness played out before him. He felt as if he were dying. Parts of his life flashing before his eyes. And in a way, that was true. For part of him would always be tied to her, and the sickening feeling in his stomach cried out that any hopes for a relationship with her were fading fast.

He inhaled sharply as he reached his arm out to the side, grasping a pillow, and pulling it over his eyes to block the montage. Immediately he regretted the action. Her scent lingered on the fabric, flooding his mind with more memories at the recognition. He fought an inner struggle, willing himself to pull it away, to remove all reminders of her until he was able to process all that had happened. Yet another part of him couldn't let go of the one piece of her still within his grasp. His grip tightened slightly, reflexively tightening and loosening the hold as he waged his battle.

He mumbled something into the pillow, cursing himself for being so stupid. All of the time invested into their fated relationship amounted to nothing for the end result of their encounter was not what he had hoped for. He should have known that something so good, so right, would end in such an ironic way. 

Hours before, all had been perfect. He was lying next to her, holding her close against him as he watched the rise and fall of her chest, her steady shallow breathing comforting his senses. She had fallen to sleep pretty easily, the innocence of her deepened by slumber. Yet somewhere in the back of his mind, the frightening scenario had ate away at his confidence that such an end were possible. He watched her for a while, content to memorize every line of her face, every curve of her body for recall in the days to come. He had studied her intently, relearning all the intricacies of her that used to fascinate him so. The seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes to hours, until he himself gave way to the fatigue pulling at his body. 

Now, lying alone on his bed, her scent still permeating the cotton sheets next to his head, he fought back the subtle images flooding his mind. Each image growing stronger in intensity and eating away at the little self control he had remaining.

He remembered her purple nail polish decorating the toes that peeked out from the strappy sandals. She propped them on the seat next to him, her long legs more than adequate to span the distance under the table. It was she that suggested they stop off for a quick cup of coffee. He had recommended the quaint little cafe down the block from his apartment, knowing there was no way he would come between this girl and her coffee. He had placed his hand gently on her ankle, rubbing his thumb back and forth on the smooth skin, an intimate gesture between two old friends.

He pictured her smallish tattoo, resting slightly above her hip bone. The personal marking hidden from the world, yet revealed to him in a moment of complete and utter trust. The design was simple, a gift she had given herself, not meant to be admired or flashed to strangers. It was intimate, and entirely her. He covered it easily with his thumb, touching a part of her that she openly shared. 

Her long brown hair hadn't changed much over the years. She had shortened it a bit in length, stopping just below the shoulders, flipping lightly with the breeze. Gone was the restraining headband, allowing her tresses to flow freely around her face. She still tucked the strands behind her ear, a habit born of convenience now rooted in her nervousness. His fingers entwined in her hair as he kissed a sensitive spot below her ear. And later, his muscles twitched as the strands fell carelessly across his chest, her head resting lightly over his heart. 

He bolted upright, rubbing his eyes with his open palms. His subconscious was playing tricks with him, leading him down a path of self destruction. Every recollection was tearing at his insides, reminding him of what could have been. And more importantly, what was. 

He wanted to take it back. All of it. The small touches. The gestures. The smiles. The sex. He would take any of it back if it meant he still had the smallest chance with her. He had imagined for years what their reunion would entail. The laughter. The innuendos. The words tossed carelessly back and forth, playing the melody of their banter. The experience did not falter from his fantasy in detail, only in timing. He was a man of control. A man of preparation. Walking through that door and locking eyes with her had thrown him for a loop and shaken any self control he had cornered. He had taken a few minutes to collect his thoughts, sort through his intentions before taking the first step in her direction. But all in all, last night was a foray into the unexpected. And ultimately, the spontaneity of the night had been his demise.

He approached her with shaky confidence, careful to mask his emotions lest they betray him. She smiled genuinely when she turned to greet him, wrapping him in a friendly embrace. He pulled her tight to him, releasing her seconds later as friendly protocol would demand. Raising an eyebrow and fighting the smirk twitching at his lips, he delivered a cheesy pickup line, finally submitting to the smile while he watched her roll her eyes. 

And in seconds, they were entwined in a friendly dance of words that was so familiar. The comments flowed free of forethought, every twitch of her lips and ducking of her head eliciting another innuendo. She smiled genuinely at his teasing, offering a few sultry remarks in response. And the second nature of their relationship returned full swing, the years of separation forgotten and surpassed in mere moments. 

Hours passed, unbeknownst to either. Her stories landed on open ears for he was honestly interested in what had taken place in her life. She commented on the changes she saw in him, complimenting him for the obvious maturity and confidence that befell him. 

And minute by minute he was falling for her all over again. 

He had known they had a connection even back in high school. A shared glance. An inside joke. A whispered answer in class.

A few years later and nothing had changed. They had grown up and out of a lot of the habits of their childhoods, but their ability to communicate without words remained. She looked at him over her drink, raising one eyebrow and glancing towards the door. Two minutes later he was standing on the steps of his friend's house, helping her on with her jacket. Open for wherever the night may take them. 

Looking back, he wasn't certain if last night's itinerary were an accident, or the subtle pull of his unconscious, willing the events to fall in the perfect order. He was aware that she had been drinking, her outer appearance never betraying the extent of her intoxication. She never wavered, never slurred, and never gave a sign that she wasn't prepared for what was to come. But perhaps he didn't look hard enough. 

Words were lost between them, as his lips pressed lightly to her collarbone. Her responses willing him forward, pushing him to a limit he knew he could not uphold. He fought the voice in the back of his head, screaming for him to take it slow, all the while backing with her through the door to his room. 

Their movements were like a slow dance, each step fitting where the other left off. No words were needed as each touch relayed what was on the other's mind. He willed himself to stop, knowing that he had yet to make the irreversible crossing of the taboo. And without warning, he was at the point of no return. He mustered enough courage to pull back, eyes meeting hers over the erratic beatings of their hearts. Lightly laying her hand on his chest, the whispered sound of his name from her lips was his undoing. And in that moment, their lives were changed forever and unequivocally connected forever in that night.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he braced himself against the nightstand, slowly rising to his feet. Crossing the floor, he grabbed a sweatshirt from his drawer, throwing it over his head and pulling on the sleeves. He repeated the manner with his running pants, not bothering to undo the ties as he pulled his running shoes onto his bare feet. Completing the ensemble, he pulled on his faded blue ballcap, tucking the blonde strands under it's covering. 

Pulling his bedroom door shut, he caught the eye of his roommate not bothering to explain away his unusual actions. Crossing the hall he threw open the door, barely breathing in his first breath before his feet took off on his morning run. He was running for the exercise. Running for the relief. And running from the events of last night that refused to evacuate his every thought. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**:  I never intended for this story to go beyond the first part.  And I definitely never thought I'd be working on it again.  But sometimes, inspiration strikes at the oddest times.  I'm not sure if this is a fitting part for the series, but I'm putting it out there anyway.  And I'm not sure if this is the last part or if it will go on.   Unpredictability is the spawn of ingenuity.  ( I have no idea what that means, but it sounded really poetic for a moment.)  If you notice the pattern, I'm trying to keep this dialogue free and I hope that doesn't get too confusing for any of you.

**Part 3**

The thin ledge of the bathtub supported her shaky figure, cold porcelain tingling the back of her legs.  Something about the smooth, familiar surface was comforting in such a stressful moment.  And only she could know the stress she was feeling right then.  She resisted the urge to rearrange the bottles of shampoo and bodywash on the ledge.  She figured that doing it once was ok, twice was indecisive, but three times was bordering on obsessive.  Instead she began picking imaginary lint spots off of her shirt.  Anything to bide the time.

The shrill chirping of the timer sent her to her feet, her nervousness causing her to stumble and whack her left shin on the nearby toilet.  She bent slightly at the waist and brushed off her leg out of habit.  But she didn't notice the pain.  Her eyes never left the small object not three feet away that would either calm her nerves or send her down a spiral of anxiety even she had never achieved.  Five minutes had never seemed like an eternity before, and she longingly desired to return to the days when five minutes was five minutes.  She slowly walked towards the counter, previous jumpiness turning to slow caution.  Taking a deep breath, she reached for the small white stick laying on the vanity and pulled it into her eye line.

The double line wasn't there.

She breathed a long sigh of relief, releasing the pent up nerves and exhaustion.  Freeing herself from that last little gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach.  It was negative, just as the previous six tests had been.  She began taking a test every three days after that night, and was oddly not comforted each time the results came in.  She refused to believe she could have been that stupid, that careless and gotten away without consequences.  Perhaps her unwillingness to accept her fate resulted from her belief that she needed to be punished.  Deserved to be punished for letting nature take its course.  Punished for giving into something she could not control.   Because caving in to her human desires was not justification for what she did.

Most girls at least waited until they were late before they worried.  They didn't think twice about the consequences that may come until they were upon them.  But she started worrying the minute she walked out his door.  Worrying from the moment she realized she couldn't remember if they had been safe.  But seven negative tests, an emergency contraceptive pill, and hundreds of prayers later, her fears were laid to rest.

Tossing the stick and the empty box into the trash can on her way out, she silently closed the door behind her.  Closing the door on her fears and her anxiety.  Closing it on her stupidity and naivety.  But never on the memory.  

She closed her eyes tightly, fighting the waves that always hit her when she thought of that night.  Denying the same mixture of emotions that attacked her senses.  His movements were engrained on her thoughts, memories that did not die or fade with time.  Her ears tingled with every sound uttered between them as they tangled in his bed.   Her skin still burnt in the places where lips met flesh and resistance met persuasion. 

Willing herself to let it go, demanding that her senses comply, she opened her eyes cautiously. She stared blankly around her apartment, her mind free from any thought.  She was glad her mother had convinced her to live on her own for a year, because it was times like these she was glad she didn't have anyone to make fake conversation with.  

She looked quietly at the room before her.  It was the same, yet different somehow.  The books were still neatly lined on the bookshelf, arranged perfectly in order of descending height.  The throw pillows still adorned both sides of the sofa against the wall.  A pile of clean laundry sat in the middle of the room, as it always did the day after laundry day.  It looked like it did every other day she had lived there.  But it wasn't the same.  This was no longer just the apartment of a studious, yet eccentric college sophomore.  A sophomore with a niche for strong coffee and indie music.  It wasn't just the apartment of a brunette who strongly resembled her mother in both word and action.  It was also the apartment of a flitty college coed who had one night stands.

She used the plural of the word, even though she knew that the event had only happened once.  But she couldn't entirely convince herself that it would always be a one time thing.  For if put back in the same situation, she wasn't sure what the end result would be.  Everything she had thought she knew about herself vanished in that short span of hours, and she wasn't certain of anything anymore.

And that uncertainty was killing her.

She had prided herself in always being in control.  Always knowing what move someone else was going to make, even before he knew what move he was making.  She was never taken by surprise, never blindsided by an unforeseen event.  She was always prepared.  Heck, the boy scouts would even be jealous of her readiness. 

But not that day.  That day, something was different.  Something had snapped and she was caught off guard.  She wasn't expecting to see him.  Wasn't expecting to fall back into that familiar banter that left her scrambling for something witty to say.  Wasn't expecting to be so nervous around him that she kept drinking.  And definitely wasn't expecting to follow him home and sleep with him.

But she had.  And she would forever have that black cloud hanging over her head.

She jumped when she heard the knocking on the door, frantically looking around the room as if she needed to hide what she was doing  Belatedly she realized that her thoughts were not etched on her face, nor were her clothes emblazoned with a bright red letter indicating her sins.  Her hand went automatically to smooth down her hair, the other straightening her shirt to appear as normal as possible.  

She started towards the door and was halfway there when she was met by the sight of her mother.  It was customary for the older woman to use her own key to get in, after all, she had nothing to hide from the woman who knew her inside and out.  Even though they lived hours apart, it gave her mother some security knowing that she held a key.  Assuring herself that if she could come and go as she pleased, nothing ever would happen there that she disapproved of.

They exchanged greetings like two old friends, followed shortly by a series of hugs and laughter.  It didn't matter how often they saw each other, it was never often enough for either.  A lifetime of sharing a house with only the other could not be overcome with the occasional meeting when both had time.  She had almost forgotten that her mother was coming up for the day, but still experienced the same feeling of warmth when she realized she had all day with her mother.  They would probably do something less than exotic, like run to the grocery store and video place to make sure they had enough of a stash to last.  But regardless of the lack of spontaneity, every minute with her was worth it.

She headed instinctively for the coffee pot, knowing that she needed to get a pot started soon to accommodate two addicts in the house.  Had she remembered her mother was visiting she would have had it already made, poured, and waiting for her to waltz through the door.  As it was, she apologized for the lapse in judgment, only to suffer a teasing "tsk" from her mother.  Her mother then began rambling about the dozen or so cups she had had on the drive and her refusal to make a stop at the rest area because that added time onto when she would at last see her daughter.  While she relayed the story, one leg was crossed over the other and she was hopping around the kitchen in an effort to prolong the inevitable.  With a stern glance and instruction from her daughter, she readily excused herself and dashed toward the bathroom.

She heard the clicking of the door from the kitchen, shaking her head at her mother's stubbornness and refusal to give in to human need.  She remembered a time when she was just like her.  Remembered when she was able to deny every want and need of the human condition.  But lately, she found herself giving in more often than she fought back.

All of the sudden, a thought came flooding back to her.  Her head snapped up, and her eyes darted across the small apartment to the bathroom door.  She wished at that moment that she had been blessed with the extrasensory gift of x-ray vision.  For she needed to know what exactly was transpiring.  Her mother was inside.  And so was the test.  And the one thing she wanted more than anything at the moment was that one would not find the other.

She forgot what she was doing at the moment, her attention focused on the door across the apartment. Freshly made coffee poured out of the machine onto the potless burner, sizzling as the liquid met the hotplate.  She stared blankly at the door, holding the empty pot in one hand, unable to think or move.  She was oblivious to the coffee pool now forming on the counter and running down the cabinets.  The liquid continued to leak, now dripping off of the counter and splashing in the pool on the floor.  

And as quickly as she had been snapped into the trance, she was out of it.  The scalding coffee burned her toes as it dripped and splashed on the floor.  Practically throwing the pot down, she unplugged the machine and reached for the stash of paper towels under the sink.  She frantically tore off sheets and started wiping up the liquid.  She began to do some damage control on the mess she had made, cursing herself for not following her mother's advice to buy a machine with an automatic shutoff.  

The mass of wet paper towels on the floor grew and soon she was surrounded by them.   She was nearing the end of the roll and thankfully the mess was almost taken care of.  She took the last few sheets and dried up the remaining coffee from the front of the cabinets.  She was kneeling in the midst of it all when her mother re-entered the room and calmly called her name.


End file.
